


Ride Til I Can't No More

by vix_spes



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Stalker, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Flirt, M/M, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Jaskier loves his job, just not some of the things that go with it, which is why he loves the ranch that is his sanctuary. It's also why he's not overly enthused at having to share it with Geralt, the bodyguard that his manager has hired for him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 235
Collections: Geraskier Exchange





	Ride Til I Can't No More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peaktotheocean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaktotheocean/gifts).



> Misconductandmimosas, my brain ended up taking me in a slightly strange direction but I do hope you enjoy this! Huge thanks to cydonianlady for reading it through for me.

Jaskier walked off-stage to thunderous applause and screams for more, even if he had already done two encores and wouldn’t be doing a third. The last concert of the tour was always a weird one because there was a whole range of emotions that went with it. The sheer exhilaration of being on stage, performing for thousands of people. All of whom had paid to come and see him sing. People who knew every single word to his songs. Songs that he had poured his heart and soul into. There was sadness that it was over because being on stage was addictive and it was a heady sensation being adored by that many people.

But then there was relief, because as thrilling and addictive as performing was, it was also exhausting. Especially on tour. Pouring so much of yourself into your work, constantly performing. Never staying in one place more than a couple of days, endless hotel rooms and room service or 24-hour diners. It was draining and so, no matter how much Jaskier loved it, getting time to himself – time off – was a relief. Oh, he’d be messing around with his guitar and writing snatches of melodies and lyrics on whatever surface he could find within a few days but that would be just for him.

The respite was even more of a relief this time because this tour had been the most gruelling that Jaskier had ever done. Not from a performance perspective, but from the fact that it appeared he had a stalker.

It was an accepted fact of gaining a certain amount of fame that there would be people who didn’t like you. You accepted that. Obviously, that went for everyday life even when you weren’t famous, but it was probably more exaggerated if you were a known public figure. With the surge in social media, there was a rise in people who were far more confident in stating their dislike from the safety of behind their computer keyboards.

Jaskier was no stranger to trolls. He was very proudly queer and very vocal about LGBTQ issues and politics, as well as anything else that he felt like being vocal about. He had done that before he got picked up by a record label and had refused, much to the frustration of Dijkstra, his manager. Jaskier saw no reason to stop though; it wasn’t as though he was feeding the trolls. If they got particularly bad, he reported them, blocked them and got on with his life. Nothing had prepared him for the opposite though; people who liked him too much.

Things had started getting weird while he wrote his last album. The first signs were letters sent to the PO box for his fan club. On the surface, they seemed perfectly normal – your average letter from a fan to their idol – but there was something more there that set off the spidey-senses of anyone that read them. For a start, they were well-written. Handwritten with not necessarily beautiful calligraphy but certainly neat penmanship. The vocabulary that they used also hinted at the fact that the sender was much older than your average fangirl.

The fact that it was more than one letter didn’t help matters. Given that the letters didn’t contain any threats or anything other than rather creepy adulation, they couldn’t even go to the police. They would be laughed out of the station. Instead, Dijkstra insisted on appointing Jaskier a head of security which was something that he had been vehemently against up until now. Yes, he had achieved a considerable amount of success so far, but it wasn’t as though he had reached the dizzying heights of Beyoncé or Taylor Swift.

Jaskier liked Zoltan – the man that Dijkstra hired – he really did. Maybe he was a little unorthodox for a head of security, but that was part of the appeal. He was also hilarious when he was drunk. More importantly for Dijkstra, he was competent with a proven track record.

Dijkstra felt justified by his insistence when, as soon as they hit the recording studio, Jaskier’s stalker upped his game. He – they were assuming it was a he – was still sending the letters, now to the studio rather than the PO box, but that wasn’t all he was sending. Gifts started appearing at the studio. Little things like Jaskier’s favourite coffee order from Starbucks, chocolates, massage oils but then also more expensive gifts such as a set of Jaskier’s preferred strings for his guitar. And Jaskier was picky about his guitar strings; his baby deserved nothing but the best. Even with the gifts, they had no luck tracing the guy. The letters were still anonymous, and all of the gifts were dropped off by different delivery people.

They had assumed that things would calm down once the recording was done and they were well into the production process. The gifts had paused but the letters had continued unabated. But then the album had been released to great acclaim and the tour had been announced, which seemed to be the tipping point. As ticket sales rocketed and Jaskier started to do the rounds of interview shows, the stalker started to show renewed signs of life. Gifts were sent to studios as well as photos of Jaskier being uploaded to social media as he went about his life.

That had been the tipping point for both Zoltan and Dijkstra, who had cornered Jaskier and informed him that they were hiring him a personal bodyguard for the duration of the tour. Jaskier had attempted to complain, to no avail.

“You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking. I’ve got Zoltan, what do I need someone else for? This isn’t the fucking Bodyguard; I’m not Whitney Houston!”

“No, you don’t have her tits. Better ass though.”

Zoltan’s completely inappropriate comment made Jaskier laugh, at least momentarily. “Do you really think all this is absolutely necessary? I mean, a bodyguard? Really?”

“Really.” Zoltan was deadly serious which was disturbing considering how jovial he usually was. “Look, I’m good but I’m not this good. We have nothing on this guy. We don’t even know if he _is_ a guy. Out on tour, I can try and control the situation as much as possible, but there’s only so much I can do. Having another set of eyes – especially this set of eyes – will make me feel a hell of a lot better about your safety.”

“You make him sound as though he’s a god or something,” Jaskier grumbled.

“Not a god. He’d hate it if you described him like that. A former Navy SEAL though? Yes.”

Jaskier choked on his coffee. “You’ve convinced a former Navy SEAL to act as a personal bodyguard to a singer? To me? Is there something wrong with him?”

It was Zoltan’s turn to chuckle, “no, there’s nothing wrong with Geralt.”

When he met the guy two weeks later, Jaskier could confirm that there was absolutely nothing wrong with Geralt Rivia. And, no matter what Zoltan had said, he did indeed look like a god. Ridiculously good-looking with long, white-blond hair, strangely beautiful amber-gold eyes and biceps that looked like they were the same diameter as Jaskier’s thighs. All Jaskier had been able to think was that it was sodding typical that he wanted to climb the man like a tree and here he was in his practice clothes learning dance routines and dripping with sweat.

And then Jaskier had discovered that not only did Geralt look like a god, he also acted like a god; arrogant and aloof, barely uttering a word and generally looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but on Jaskier’s tour. Essentially, he was being a dick and Jaskier had called him on it, right before the soundcheck for the first show.

“Look, you clearly don’t like me so why the hell did you accept this job? Why aren’t you off protecting Senator Calanthe or President Emreis. Anyone you blatantly think is more deserving of your time than a mere bard.”

Jaskier had expected Geralt to come back with something, anything, probably along the lines of how it was completely beneath him and he’d only taken the job for the money. What he hadn’t expected was for Geralt to duck his head, almost as though he was embarrassed, and mutter “been there, done that” and something about his daughter. Melitele, but it only made him even more attractive. So, Jaskier had an arrogant god-like bodyguard only now he had been upgraded to hot!dad status.

They had settled into a strange sort of relationship for the rest of the tour. Jaskier had remained his usual ebullient, flirtatious self, not in the least put off by the fact that Geralt responded in nothing but monosyllables, if he responded at all. It worked for them, even if Geralt grew increasingly frustrated that he couldn’t find whoever it was that was still stalking Jaskier, no matter what he tried to catch him. 

For his part, Jaskier experienced his own frustration. He still didn’t know what Geralt thought of him and that frustrated him. Normally he was so good at reading people, but Geralt was a brick wall. Jaskier had seen him soften when he was on the phone with his daughter. Had seen him look at Jaskier when he was all dressed up for a show almost hungrily, adding fuel to sexual tension between them on occasion, even if he did look sceptical at some of Jaskier’s costume choices. And then there was the look of exasperation. The one that Jaskier received quite frequently when he had ignored the security protocols that Geralt and Zoltan had established and gone off to talk to his fans, signing autographs and taking selfies with them. It was the only time - other than when Geralt talked to his daughter - that he uttered more than one word to Jaskier.

And so it had continued throughout the tour.

Jaskier had flirted, the stalker had sent photos, letters and gifts and Geralt had looked grumpy saying “hmm” and “fuck” a lot. They’d got into something of a routine. Jaskier had even got used to having Geralt around, even if it was for serious reasons rather than the fun kind. He had even got to know Geralt’s daughter a bit, having cheerfully inserted himself into a video call. He liked Ciri. She had been somewhat starstruck when Jaskier had first introduced himself, but she was now a regular chatterbox and they messaged daily on Instagram. Jaskier even managed to avoid mentioning his thirst for her dad although he sent her plenty of pictures of Geralt looking grumpy.

It was exhausting though. Constantly not knowing where he stood with Geralt - sometimes it was most definitely a professional relationship, whilst at other times it was almost as though they were friends - not to mention the addition of the stalker onto the always gruelling process of being on tour. He might be a showman, but Jaskier was ready for his creature comforts. For his own space. For peace and quiet.

If it weren't for the fact that Dijkstra and Zoltan would tell him to stop being stupid, Jaskier would be tempted to tell them that Geralt was obsolete. His stalker hadn't let up but then neither had they really done anything. If anything, they seemed rather harmless. That was why the end of the tour had come as such a relief. There was no need for Geralt Rivia. He could go home and try to forget all about the man.

Of course, Dijkstra and Zoltan decided to put a wrench in his plans.

“No. He’s not coming with me. Oxenfurt is my sanctuary.”

Oxenfurt was his home. He didn’t share it with anybody. Only Dijkstra - and now Zoltan - knew of its existence. The deeds were under his birth name rather than his stage name and he never mentioned it in interviews. It was the place that he retreated to when he needed a break from being Jaskier the singer.

“You don’t have to go to Oxenfurt. You could go to New York or L.A. I’m sure Priscilla would be delighted to see you.”

“I don’t want to go to L.A. or New York, I want to go home.” Jaskier knew that he was sounding a little like a petulant child, but he didn’t particularly care.

“Then Geralt comes with you. That’s non-negotiable. Not until we catch this guy. I know it’s your sanctuary, but you need to be safe and Geralt can ensure that.”

“Fine. But if he’s coming to Oxenfurt then he’s going to have to pitch in like everyone else.”

~*~

Whatever Geralt was expecting, it wasn’t this. Zoltan and Djikstra had spoken of Jaskier’s home, a place called Oxenfurt and, well, he had been expecting some ridiculous, oversized mansion in LA. An obnoxious, ostentatious building in a gated community that was full of other singers, actors and celebrities that had an overinflated sense of their own self-worth. Endless showbiz parties with alcohol and drugs to excess. Vapid people interested in nothing but themselves. Essentially, he had been expecting his worst nightmare.

This was the complete opposite.

Oxenfurt wasn’t in L.A., it wasn’t even close. Geralt had taken the opportunity to close his eyes having checked the plane for concerns and, when he had woken up, it had been into BNA Nashville, rather than LAX. There had then been an hours drive from Nashville to Oxenfurt. Geralt had expected an ostentatious mansion like the ones you saw in reality TV shows. What he had got was a ranch. An honest to god Tennessee ranch complete with horses.

Seems as though Jaskier was full of surprises. Again.

He should have guessed.

Geralt had only considered this job as a favour to Zoltan and taken it after Ciri had refused to speak to him if he didn’t accept it. He had never heard of the singer Jaskier but Ciri had. She knew all about him, knew the words to all of his songs and had shown Geralt so many videos on different social media platforms that it made his head spin. Were it any other teenager, Geralt would have been concerned but he trusted that he had raised Ciri well.

He was also somewhat reassured once he was on tour with Jaskier. He had expected all manner of excesses, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, Jaskier seemed positively restrained. He wasn’t one of these singers who liked to go out to clubs and bars every night. Indeed, his management, band and backstage crew almost seemed like a family. The most that they were likely to do after a show was go to a 24-hour diner which certainly made Geralt’s job easier.

What didn’t make his job easier was the reason that he had been hired. By all accounts - and Geralt had seen the evidence - Jaskier had a stalker. The only problem was that they were good. Geralt had guarded some of the world’s most important people, had worked on some incredibly highly-classified missions that he wasn’t permitted to talk about but even they had had a trail to follow. There was nothing with this case. Whoever it was that was stalking Jaskier - and Geralt had no doubt that Jaskier was being stalked - was good. There was no clear trace of them whatsoever. Not merely lack of a physical presence, but also lack of a digital one. Whoever it was, they were technologically competent. More than competent even. It was driving him crazy. Geralt was not used to not being able to solve his cases.

It wasn’t the only thing that was driving Geralt crazy.

There was also Jaskier.

Geralt had expected to hate him, not find himself not merely liking the man but being attracted to him. Geralt had come across plenty of famous singers since he had made the move from being a SEAL to the private security business and none of them had left the best impression. He had been ready for an arrogant, egocentric and vapid idiot, concerned with nothing but himself and with no depth whatsoever. Ciri had tried to tell him otherwise, but Geralt was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t believed his daughter.

Jaskier was very much an oddity compared to those other singers. He was genuinely talented, spending endless hours writing songs and practising his instruments. He willingly spent hours of time with his fans signing autographs and taking selfies, no matter how tired he was at the end of a show. His kindness to his fans was also inordinately frustrating to both Geralt and Zoltan given that he had a tendency to ignore the protocols that they had put in place for his safety and would frequently wander off to meet fans. That same kindness transferred over to Ciri. Jaskier had managed to be there once when Geralt had been FaceTiming his daughter and had inserted himself into the call. They had been firm friends ever since.

And then there were the costumes. Geralt didn’t know how to describe them other than an eyesore. Obnoxiously bright colours that clashed with each other. Eyeliner and hair that looked like he had just rolled out of bed. Shirts that showed off and even drew attention to a rug of chest hair that did things to Geralt that he hadn’t expected. There had been more than one occasion where, instead of letting Jaskier go on stage, Geralt had wanted to drag him back to his bed and not let him go. He was also pretty sure that he hadn’t managed to hide his desire.

Jaskier wasn’t at all put off by Geralt’s taciturn nature. If anything, he simply took it as a challenge. He would continue chatting away even if Geralt didn’t respond with anything other than a grunt, would flirt away even if Geralt’s only response had been an arched eyebrow. It was a true test of his resolve though when he knew that Jaskier wanted him just as he wanted Jaskier.

Geralt was reluctant to get involved with a client again though. He’d done it once before and it had been a disaster. Yennefer Vengerberg. A particularly ruthless politician. She had been a Senator that had then run for President and ended up as Secretary of State. Geralt had been assigned as her bodyguard and they had fallen into an illicit relationship not long after. It had been a disaster from the very beginning. It wasn’t so much a relationship as ridiculously good sex and even more vicious fights. She was an amazing woman but Geralt had never regretted mixing business and pleasure so much. He had never repeated his actions - or even been tempted - until now.

He couldn’t help but fear that, if he gave into his feelings and started something with Jaskier, that it would distract him from the case at hand. Then again, he wasn’t doing particularly well at his job at the moment considering that he kept losing his charge. Every single day, without fail, Jaskier disappeared without trace. It was infuriating. Geralt searched all over the house to no avail and when Jaskier reappeared in an evening, he would just shrug and say that he had ‘been around’.

It was on the fourth day at Oxenfurt that Geralt finally struck lucky. Determined not to lose Jaskier again, he had stayed awake for the whole night and had been rewarded for his efforts when, just after dawn, he had heard movement from Jaskier’s room. Keeping a distance - though not too far so that he lost his charge again - Geralt followed Jaskier to … the stables?

Whatever Geralt had been expecting, it hadn’t been this. He hadn’t even thought to check the stables when he had been searching for Jaskier over the last few days. 

The last few people that he had worked for would have rather died than be seen in a stable. Yet, Jaskier looked positively at home there. There were four horses, three of them trying to get as close to Jaskier as possible, while the fourth hung back a little. Jaskier was dressed down in jeans, t-shirt and heavy work boots and grooming them carefully.

“Seriously? The stables?”

“What? Did you think I’d be afraid of them?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to have them at all.”

“Well, you can correct your presumptions then. Meet Dandelion, Buttercup, Essi and our newest resident of Oxenfurt, as yet to be named. Perhaps if you’re very good, I’ll let you name her.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“They are. I love coming here, coming home. This - Oxenfurt - it’s my sanctuary. It’s always a pleasure coming back here. I can be myself.”

As Jaskier spoke, Geralt could see physical evidence that corroborated his words. Yes, Jaskier was very much in his element on stage and in front of his fans, but there was something about seeing him here that was different. He was grounded, relaxed.

“Can you ride?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you ride?” Even as he questioned Geralt, Jaskier was tacking up one of the horses. “I’m going out riding and you may as well join me. If you can.”

“My foster father taught me when I was a teenager, but I haven’t ridden in a few years.”

“It’s like riding a bike. You’ll remember how to do it. Come on, I’m taking Dandelion out. You can have the new girl.”

Geralt watched as Jaskier’s hands tacked up the bay mare, his hands as swift and as sure as when they moved over his instruments on stage. It was compelling. Geralt had long found competency attractive - it was one of the things that had drawn him to Yennefer - and here was Jaskier, showing as much skill with horses as he had over his instruments. It was yet one more thing that made it harder for him to remain impartial in his job.

Jaskier had been right. Riding a horse was like riding a bike, albeit with a lot of sore muscles and a fair amount of cursing. It had become their thing. Every day after breakfast, they would tack up the horses and ride the perimeter of Oxenfurt. Sometimes they would pack up food and stop for a picnic, other days they would return to the main house to eat and Jaskier would settle into his music room for the afternoon to work on new material. It was dangerous territory if Geralt allowed himself to stop and think too much, so he tried not to. It was the closest that he had been to anyone except for Ciri and felt as though they were skirting the edges of a relationship.

One day, rather than doing the usual ride that they did around the perimeter of Oxenfurt, Jaskier only tacked up the horse that Geralt had now named Roach and took her into a training ring. As Geralt watched, getting increasingly turned on, Jaskier worked with Roach. He was staring so intently that he missed Jaskier speaking to him, failed to see the almost predatory smirk that crossed Jaskier’s face as he took in Geralt’s reaction until Jaskier was stood in front of him, hand trailing over where the denim of Geralt’s jeans strained.

“Geralt? Is this actually turning you on? Finding out that I’m a competent rider? An experienced horse trainer? Not that I’ve sold millions of albums and performed in front of thousands of people?”

“Hmm.”

Before Geralt could blink, Jaskier was on him. He was on his tiptoes, one hand tangled in Geralt’s t-shirt, the other wound in his hair, lips pressed against Geralt’s. He was kissing Geralt. This was surpassing everything that Geralt had dreamed of but tried not to. Geralt found his hands fluttering in the air on either side of Jaskier’s hips, wanting desperately to touch but not knowing if he could. As though Jaskier sensed his hesitancy, he took Geralt’s hands in his own and placed them on his hips, pressing closer to Geralt as he did so. Just as Geralt started to reciprocate, Jaskier pulled away only to lean back in to whisper in Geralt’s ear.

“You should see what else I can ride…”

“Fuck.”

Jaskier nipped at Geralt’s jaw, “oh, yes.”


End file.
